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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28103064">Unattainable</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnatales/pseuds/Cinnatales'>Cinnatales</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Evil Within (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Family Loss, Guilt, M/M, One-Sided Attraction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:42:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,057</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28103064</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnatales/pseuds/Cinnatales</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Perhaps... In another life, I could’ve been wanted and appreciated by you.” </p>
<p>Stefano is drawing closer, having Sebastian stiffen when his breath brushes against his lips, “Instead, I find myself longing for someone I’ll never have.” </p>
<p>It’s the final showdown between father and artist, and it’s looking grim for Sebastian. Trapped like a fly in amber, Stefano has a heart to heart with him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sebastian Castellanos/Stefano Valentini</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Unattainable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The harmonious notes of cellos and violins sweeten the tension ridden air. It laces together with the thunderous beat of Sebastian’s heart, the harsh stomps of his boots against wood, his quick pants of breath as he regains his stamina. Brown hues dart left and right, hand gun drawn at the ready, as he keeps an ear out for the next telltale buzz of Stefano warping into existence. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Where is he? </em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I commend your determination,” The photographer’s voice booms around Sebastian, ever so taunting, like a cat playing with its prey. Sebastian curses under his breath. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A spark of blue flashes in the corner of his eye. He pivots on the spot right as he catches the menacing shimmer of Stefano’s blade. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>It won’t save you however.” </em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gunshots ring through the gallery, piercing silver slicing through Sebastian’s flesh like butter. He’s suppressing a cry with clenched teeth<em>. </em>Blood seeps between his shaky fingertips, as he attempts to staunch the nasty cut slashed against his side. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Now, <em>smile for the camera </em>.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The tell tale beeps piercing through cello cords has Sebastian scrambling for cover. He’s darting behind one of the gallery walls, only to be met by Stefano on the other side.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Click. </em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The blinding flash of white brings his movements to a halt, encasing him in a prison of blue. Stefano has the gall to <em>laugh,  </em> a sound that sets off a <em>jolt of fury </em>within Sebastian. Brown hues lock with icy blue as Stefano stalks toward him. <em>What he would give to wipe that condescending smirk off of Stefano’s face.  </em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Though, as Stefano draws nearer, the weight of his newfound situation begins to take its toll. No matter how hard he tries to move, no matter how hard he tries to shoot or run, his body remains stone still. He’s<em> helpless, </em>and with it brings a wave of fear, threatening to swallow him alive. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s as if the photographer feeds off of it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> He can’t die now, not like this. Not when Lily needs him. </em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stefano steps into the box, dress shoes clacking against the hard wood floor. He circles Sebastian once, accessing his rigid posture, the grimace set upon his face as he aims down his handgun. With a tsk, he reaches out, tugging at the firearm held within Sebastian’s white knuckled grip. It’s pried away from him, tossed to the side like a mere toy. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Fuck! </em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’ve been<em> fighting  </em>for so long,” The artist hums, gloved hands running up Sebastian’s raised arms, before gently guiding them down to his sides, “Doesn’t it get tiring?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wills every muscle in his body to slap the offending hands away, to not have his<em> body manipulated like a damn puppet </em> , but he’s <em>frozen in place</em>, stuck and left at the mercy of the artist. Stefano seems to sense his struggle, if the slight curl of his lips is any indication. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Damn bastard. </em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> “ </em> I’m sure it does,” Stefano breathes out, reaching out and cupping his cheek. His palm is cool to the touch, and Sebastian is almost caught off guard by how... <em>Tender  </em> the gesture is. Though he’s far from fooled to believe it’s caring. Stefano’s head tilts just slightly, that lone blue eye tracing over his hardened features<em>, “ </em>I wonder, what do you hope to gain when all is said and done?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That’s when the cold edge of a knife bites into Sebastian’s throat, pressing dangerously close against his adam’s apple. His breath hitches, blood roaring in his ears as his nerves <em>spike </em>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“For a life that wasn’t so <em>cruel</em> to you?” Stefano’s thumb rubs circles into Sebastian’s paling skin, “For little Lily’s forgiveness?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sebastian goes<em> cold </em>at his daughter’s name, that fleeting touch sliding up his cheek, leather clad fingers gripping at the back of his head. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stefano leans in close, breath caressing the shell of his ear as he whispers, “Is that why you fight so hard?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then, the blue box is dispelled. Sebastian tugs backward, and surprisingly, Stefano lets him go. He’s stumbling briefly as he tugs out his shot gun, but Stefano is already gone. He’s darting for his handgun, slinging his shotgun around his back as he scoops the lone weapon up. There’s a whistle of metal, of skilled fingers spinning a knife, and Sebastian only has a second to dodge a flying dagger aiming straight for his neck. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It goes on like this, with more and more blood that seeps from Sebastian’s fresh cuts, with every bullet that’s wasted or the few that hit its mark. Sebastian is beginning to tire. Blood drips against the floorboards, his hand clamped over the deep wound on his shoulder, leaning against one of the gallery walls.<em> He’s out of syringes, </em>and it has him cursing under his breath. He’s mentally counting the bullets he still has before Stefano warps into existence once more. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>How much more can you take?”  </em>The artist taunts, stalking forward, knife glimmering menacingly in his right hand. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sebastian darts backwards, quick to put distance between them as he begins shooting with vigor. In his haste, he’s slamming up against one of the corners of the room, distracted and <em>frustrated </em>at how easily Stefano seems to warp out of the way of his shots. Though, right as he trains his gun on its mark, a pitiful click echoes through the gallery. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sebastian’s heart drops, brown hues going wide. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> He’s out of ammo. </em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And judging from Stefano’s manic grin, he knows it too, “It seems I have you now, caro mio. Cornered, and out of your <em>precious </em>bullets.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stay back!” Sebastian growls out, tugging out his survival knife and pointing it at his nemesis, “I’m not going down that easily.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course,<em> I wouldn’t expect anything less. </em>” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stefano<em> lunges</em> at Sebastian, leaving little time to react. Sebastian lashes out with his knife, swinging in a wide arch, only to be disarmed by a quick cut to his wrist. He nearly cries out, suppressing it with grit teeth before he’s slammed up against the wall, the breath knocked out of him. He’s struggling against Stefano with curses and death threats, before he’s forced still by the sharp edge of a knife resting against his throat.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His right hand is trapped beside his head in a vice grip, his other clinging to the rich purple fabric of Stefano’s suited shoulder, in a shabby attempt to keep some semblance of control over this situation. He’s panting, heart beating in his ears. It’s so loud that he’s almost afraid Stefano can hear it. Stefano’s thumb brushes along the cut on Sebastian’s trapped wrist, having the latter jump slightly at the unwelcome contact.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You never did answer my question,” The photographer comments, eye distant as he stares at the blood seeping from the wound, staining the leather of his glove. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You can go fuck yourself,” Sebastian hisses. If looks could kill, the artist would surely be dead. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What if I could provide what you were searching for?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sebastian’s mind grinds to a halt, confusion flashing across his face for a brief moment, before he’s sneering once more. He’s opening his mouth to send off a scathing retort, only to be silenced by the intensity of Stefano’s gaze. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What if I freed you from that guilt? What if I gave you a life worth living, and freed you from your demons?” He leans in closer, nearly whispering, “What if... I made you happy?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sebastian goes quiet for a mere moment, going lax as if to consider for just a moment, only for his words to come out sharper than any dagger or knife, “That will never happen.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stefano huffs out a sigh, disappointment, and something else softening his features, something human, something Sebastian has never seen within the psychopathic killer before. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Perhaps... In another life, I could’ve been wanted and appreciated by you.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stefano is drawing closer, having Sebastian stiffen when his breath brushes against his lips, “Instead, I find myself longing for someone I’ll never have.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stefano’s lips are soft against his own, the hand at his wrist going instead to twist at Sebastian’s hair, fingers burying into brown locks. Sebastian goes rigid, brown hues widening as a whole mess of emotions invades his senses. Shock, <em>horror</em>, rage, disgust, pity. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And deep within the recesses of his mind, perhaps a touch of longing. Longing of what was lost, a soft kiss so very familiar within the past that haunts him in dreams and nightmares. Of a warm body pressed against him instead of the blade of a knife, of blue eyes that showed him nothing but love and longing, before they froze into ice.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Myra kissed him like this once. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s clinging to Stefano’s shoulder for a whole different reason now, kissing back from desperation, to hold onto a past life that will forever be out of his reach, <em> to pretend everything is alright</em>. But it isn’t, the illusion isn’t right. Stefano is made of thorns and blades that carve apart skin, the hands of a sculptor who desires flesh and blood to be the medium of his ‘art’. This isn’t Myra, but in some sick way, they’re almost similar. She is made of sharp edges and ice, and Stefano is cut from the same stone. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Only he was cracked and damaged against the pavement of life and tragedy, or god knows what else. Myra was too, but she never broke. Not like Stefano, and certainly not like Sebastian. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The knife draws away, a small, stinging cut left behind. It leaves room for Stefano to tug him closer, and Sebastian’s eyes squeeze shut in order to preserve the image of a complete family, only for it to be shattered by smoke and the searing heat of flames.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Lily. </em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>With the last of his strength, he’s shoving Stefano back, one well aimed kick to his gut having him staggering with a shocked cry. Sebastian is grabbing for his fallen knife, before in a snap, he’s shoving the blade into Stefano’s chest. Stefano doesn’t have much time to react, his face contorting as if to scream, the blue depths of his eye accusing <em>betrayal</em>, but all that comes out is a wet gasp. That intricate blade slips from Stefano’s fingers and clatters to the floor. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Philistine-” His voice is barely above a whisper as his knees buckle. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sebastian manages to hold onto him before he can fall, slowly lowering him to the ground. Stefano only stares up at him, his eye beseeching him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why... Why would you....” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“As you said, perhaps in another life, I could’ve appreciated you, Stefano,” Sebastian says with a heavy sigh, “But this isn’t another life. I’m devoted to my daughter. You kidnapped her, you <em> terrorized</em> her, <em>and I can’t appreciate that. </em>I can’t appreciate the kind of vision you have.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sebastian’s eyes narrow, teeth clenching as he averts his gaze from Stefano’s, from the blame that the artist fires at him with a look alone. That look that Lily gives him in his nightmares. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“In fact, I<em> despise </em>it, <em>your vision disgusts me, </em>there is no <em>us</em> in this lifetime. You’re a sick man.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Caro mio... How you wound me,” The artist whispers, voice ragged as he struggles between wheezing breaths, “You’ve destroyed my legacy... and now you spit on my eye.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sebastian grimaces,<em> he shouldn’t feel guilt over doing what needed to be done, and yet- </em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> “Look at me...  </em>One last time.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>At the request, brown hues reluctantly return to Stefano’s face, to fulfill this man’s dying wish if only to silence the guilt. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Such pain... Always pain that ensnares your eyes... But it’s for me, not for the girl.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A grin slowly spreads across bloodied lips. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where did your hatred go?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>With those final words, one last breath is taken before the artist’s expression goes slack, life fading into emptiness within that pale blue eye. Sebastian stands up upon shaky legs, left staring at the man he murdered- No, the psychopath he <em>had </em>to kill. He shifts, almost questioning if he should just leave him here like this, before he’s tugging the knife out of Stefano’s chest. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> He doesn’t know where it went, but all that matters is his daughter. </em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s turning on his heel with a shuddering breath, resolve hardening as he strides to the double doors, the room shifting around him without Stefano’s vision. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> That’s all that matters anymore. </em> </p>
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